


Elegy

by Cylin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Dark Magic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Off-screen Character Death - not Harry or Draco though, Old work, War times, complicated magic, even more complicated feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-18
Updated: 2013-03-18
Packaged: 2017-12-05 16:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin/pseuds/Cylin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These boys hurt. A lot. And then some.<br/>Nacissa is a powerful witch and Harry is dark.<br/>Complicated backstory that's only hinted at.<br/><del>Sex</del> Love can heal everything apparently.</p><p>Alternates between Harry's and Draco's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elegy

**Author's Note:**

> Heed the tags!
> 
> Also, there is bad-er English in here than I want to admit.
> 
> I started writing this over 10 years ago, added to it over time and finished it two years ago (I think). Then it just sat on my hd. It is actually the sequel to a fic I wrote even earlier than that, but that one’s so muddled up no one but me would understand what's going on, so I’m not posting it. This fic works without it.
> 
>  
> 
> _A phenomenally huge **Thank you** goes to Julie for grammar and spelling wrangling and boy, was there wrangling to be done here..... Thank you hon!_

When I came back home, my numb arm dangling limply by my side, she just stood in the doorway staring at me blankly. With the elegance befitting the woman of the house, she showed me to my old room. She stood next to my open door, gazing at me with those strangely empty eyes. Then she left. She hadn’t said one word to me.

For hours I lay on my bed, my lame left arm tucked under my head and letting my thoughts roam.

I was home. Every stone statue was familiar, every dark tapestry on the walls, the sound of little house elf feet on the stone floor in the hall. But, despite this, there was a coldness here that made everything seem distant and indifferent towards me. I wondered when this feeling had started, when it had slowly crawled up my back and encompassed me whole. The more I thought about it, the more clearly I remembered that one evening my parents fought for the first and only time.

I stood at the upper end of the stairs and saw how my father had pulled himself up proud and noble in his stance before her and spoke in low, but decisive, words at her. My mother, although a head smaller, stood before him with her own elegantly feline arrogance and stared directly into his eyes. She had never seemed more beautiful and he never more cruel than in this moment. I can still hear their voices in my head.

“He will go. It’s for the greater good!” My father hissed, dangerously calm.

“No, Lucius!” She retorted and shrank away a little from his piercing gaze. Her big blue-glass eyes, for which my father loved her so much, narrowed to small slits and her voice shook with suppressed hysteria as she uttered the one sentence that still makes my blood curdle in my veins. “I will not allow you to sacrifice another child of mine!”

I didn’t see Lucius draw back his hand, but I heard the smack of his slap hitting her with full force. But she remained standing proud and noble before him. “Not for Him, Lucius, not another one.”

It was the last time she ever spoke to him.

I remember clearly, how I stepped forward and probably broke her heart. “I will follow you, Father.”

Back then the sentence sounded calm and collected. I don’t know exactly why I said it, or if I even really meant it. Maybe I said it so he wouldn’t hit her again, so he would forget the terrible deed I had once committed in this house, so he would calm down and everything would be back to normal. But when I saw the stony face of my mother, I knew I had changed everything. Her usually clear eyes stared at me dully from a rapidly aged face. Her elegance and grace had fallen away from her like a cloak and she seemed to sink in on herself.

My father patted my shoulder in acknowledgment and pride before he left to tell the Lord of my accession.

But I didn’t really feel it; I could not look away from her. I nearly couldn’t stand how she still scrutinised me with her wretchedly empty gaze. Then she turned away from me, shaking slightly, and left me behind in the stone hall.

She never spoke a word to me again.

I scrunched up my eyes now and was almost astonished to find them burning with tears.

When was the last time I had cried?

I nearly can’t remember, but for the blinding pain in my left shoulder and the realisation that the tears had not been my own. They were tears of a young woman, a woman I knew, but refused to remember. Her thick, brown hair was wind-swept, clumps of dirt and soil plastered in the wiry curls. Her deep brown eyes, red and swollen, stared from a filthy face when she recognised me and wept over me.

Two days ago I learned from the incomplete, confusing and propaganda-rich war accounts that it was thought to have been Hermione Granger, who nearly ripped my left arm off with a curse and made me an invalid. Weirdly I don’t feel hate towards her for that. It is war. If you stand on opposing sides it happens. That it happened to me was just tough luck.

I don’t actually feel anything. I feel as numb as my left hand. Cold and heavy like a cadaver. I have seen too many of those in my short life.

Everything gets to feel apathetic and raw.

They sent me home to recover in the hope I will be well enough to come back and fight. Be canon-fodder - spell-fodder. Now, soon turning nineteen, I’m nothing more than a war veteran, while my father still fights on the battle field. And he might die there.

~*~

“Harry Potter, Sir, has to leave the estate!”

“I can’t, I have to see him,” I whispered imploringly, while the little house-elf shifted nervously from one leg to the other.

“Harry Potter needs to leave! The Madam is here…”

“Florry?” A cutting voice sounded from a nearby room.

Florry froze. “Oh no,” she breathed, devastated. I seemed to have frozen with the young elf, as my muscles refused to obey me and I could only listen to the clicking of heels on the stone floor drawing closer.

“Florry, what –,” Her tall, slender form appeared in the doorway and she stared at me in astonishment for only a second. Then she calmly collected herself and considered me with a polite smile that never reached her eyes.

“Oh, Mr Potter, how nice to have the pleasure to welcome you here,” she murmured in a low tone; her voice had the melodic singsong quality that seemed to be distinctly Malfoy. She stared at Florry with an icy sideways glance that made the young elf shy away and vanish. I felt utterly alone all of a sudden and cold sweat started to break out all over my neck.

Narcissa Malfoy was still beautiful, although her white-gold hair was faded at the temples and behind her still surprisingly smooth skin something dark and bitter lurked.

“I assume you have come to see my – son.”

I frowned at her strange hissing pronunciation of the word `son´. If she noticed my expression, she put on an indifferent face. With a delicate swing of her hips she strode past me elegantly and with a nearly imperceptible nod of her head indicated I follow her.

Gripping the old Firebolt in my hand I trudged after her with an appropriate distance between us. We walked up the wide, winding staircase to the second floor and I wondered, while I watched her fluid movements, why they still seemed stiff and halting. We slowly walked along the corridor, the low stone banister allowing a view of the entrance hall below. She didn’t seem to care that water dripped onto the thick blue carpet and my shoes left muddy prints. I got the strange feeling that not much from her surroundings actually touched Mrs Malfoy anymore.

She stopped and knocked on the door to Draco’s room. I had only been here once before and I didn’t really want to remember that. I scrunched up my face, forcing the memory away.

“Mother?” Draco stood in the half open door and looked at his mother in obvious astonishment. For a moment I thought I could see pleading hope in his gaze, but it vanished as quickly as it had flitted over his features, when she just stared at him coolly.

She turned to me and for a moment looked at me with a strange questioning gaze, but then she politely bowed her head and strode away without uttering a word.

Draco watched her until she vanished into the small library and only then turned towards me.

I suddenly felt my throat close up and all thought ~~had~~ vanished from my head. I wanted to say something, anything, but there was nothing there.

He scrutinised me calmly and then stepped back expecting me to follow him.

I did.

I stopped moving when my eyes caught sight of his bed. Nothing seemed to have changed from the last time I had been here. Even the bedspread was the same colour. The bedposts of the huge four-poster looked like they had grown into the ceiling, gnarled wood entwined and winding around, eternally anchoring it to the ground and the ceiling respectively. And I’m sure it did, since I knew how sturdy it was. I drew in a breath as a hot quiver ran up my spine at the thought. I tried to focus away from that dangerous territory, but my eyes refused to shift farther than the bedposts. If you looked at them for too long it seemed they still moved in a sensuous gyrating movement upwards, just outside of human perception. But it was there, the wood growing and entwining constantly into each other. I expelled a shuddering breath.

He sat in a velvet armchair, facing me.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

 _Shouldn’t you be gone by now?_ My mind filled in automatically, seemingly awoken by my train of thoughts about the young man who now sat before me, and what we had done here and at Hogwarts. A strange kind of déjà-vu unnerved me. I opened my mouth to answer, but closed it again and shrugged helplessly.

Why was I here?

I didn’t know.

I had been terrified his injury had been fatal. I was so scared, although a sick part of me wanted him dead. Wants him dead even now, so I could forget what happened, what we did.

What I did.

What I still can’t stand.

I looked at the bedposts again how they entwined and grew together. I didn’t even know where it came from, didn’t intend to tell him, it just slipped from my mind, “Ron’s dead.” I heard my own dead tone, I heard the words, but still my brain refused to grab their true meaning. I didn’t hear any noise coming from him. And why should he be affected by this? He hated Ron and Ron hated him even more. But still I expected some kind of sympathy. Slowly I drew my gaze from the bedposts and looked at him, searching his face for a sign of understanding.

His piercing eyes were still on my face, but when I looked closer I realised he wasn’t really looking at me. He was staring into space, probably not seeing anything at all.

Then I noticed his right hand absentmindedly brushing the back of his neck repeatedly, like he remembered some kind of touch. Like he wanted to save a particular memory of soft, healing caresses on his skin.

His eyes focused and the moment was gone.

He looked at his left hand in this scrutinizing, amazed way. The look on his face was the same as the one he had had the last night we had spent together at Hogwarts. I’m sure he didn’t know I had been awake after he had touched me that time. I had stared at his back, at the thin white lines criss-crossing his skin. Some part of me was shocked to find them there, to know I had ripped his skin. Some part was bestially proud to know he had been mine, to feel the rush every time I remembered it. My memory, vivid, awoken by white scars and grey eyes. They pierced mine, seemed to bore right through to my inner core, my soul.

I blinked and snapped out of it. I felt confused by the cold rush in my veins, the fluttering feeling in my bones.

“Draco?”

He flinched.

I felt a pang of guilt. Had I used his name so rarely, he wasn’t used to me addressing him this way?

“Yeah,” he croaked, his voice raw and unsettled.

“Don’t you want to say something?” I asked, uneasy. I felt he had to show at least some kind of emotion. He was not dead, damn it! And there it was again, that slow, cold burn of anger. When he didn’t answer I added, „Anything?”

“What? What do you want to hear from me?” He showed his teeth in suppressed, helpless rage.

I felt myself getting angrier by every moment passing by and I didn’t even know why. I tried my best to stay calm, but I felt my control slowly slip. “I don’t want to just hear something from you. I just thought that you and Ron... I mean you got to know him in our last year, so-”

He jumped up trembling with rage. “So what?! He’s hardly the first one I know, who’s died!”

I reared back as if he had hit me. That fucking hurt. I mean he could at least show a bit of sympathy, couldn’t he?

“Did you just come here to be pitied?” He snorted contemptuously. “Sorry, Potter, but that’s not my job! Ask the Mudblood for pity!”

I was just standing there, stunned. I didn’t come here for pity, did I? But...

I don’t know why I came here!

But then that’s not really true… I just didn’t want to think about it.

He stood in front of me still trembling slightly, his breath heavy. Then he sighed and passed his right hand through his hair.

“Look at me, Harry.”

I jerked. Him using my first name stung surprisingly in my gut. I wondered if that was how he felt when I said his name. I blinked once and focused on him again. I felt a vague kind of prickle under my skin.

“I’m a cripple and I am dying.”

I froze in numb shock. All feeling bled from me in that very instant, leaving a grey fog in my mind. I couldn’t move, couldn’t blink, couldn’t think. I heard my own voice stuttering, “But it just hit your hand...!”

“And still my whole arm is numb and I can feel the magic of this curse slowly creeping up towards  my shoulder.” He nodded at me. “I always saw it.” He paused and looked me in the eye, a trace of gentleness in those grey orbs, “It’s the same with you.”

Automatically my hand shot up to my forehead touching the cursed scar.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” My passiveness suddenly fell away and anger was rushing hotly through my blood. Did he want to scare me?

He smiled, cruel in his gentleness.

“You’re seeing it, too, when you glance into a mirror.” He paused, but it wasn’t for me to answer, because it was no question. “You always felt it.” He fell silent, sitting back down in the armchair again. There was nothing more to say. I could do nothing but stare at him in suddenly dawning horror. The scope of this made me feel small and afraid, and that was dangerous. Fright quickly bled into anger with me. And there was so much anger. God, so much.

He grabbed his lame arm and dropped it carelessly onto the armrest.

“Granger is a damn powerful witch,” he murmured, almost as an afterthought, his voice barely audible.

“That she is.” I agreed, feeling strangely proud hearing him say that.

“Her curse still eats at me. Never thought she’d actually use Avada Kedavra at all in her life.”

I froze. Cold sweat gathered rapidly on my brow. My hands felt clammy and started to shake. I balled them into fists. A wave of guilt and loathing closed up my throat and I had trouble breathing. I forced a shuddering breath into my lungs.” She never used Avada Kedavra in her life. Ever.” I whispered. My voice sounded brittle. It was time.

Draco frowned. “I hate to break it to you, Potter, that your perfect Muggle-born is that dark, but this,” he pointed at his arm, “Was Avada Kedavra.”

“She never used any of the Unforgivables in her life. Never.” I repeated stubbornly, hoping to draw out the moment. Hoping I would never have to say anything at all.

Draco waited, still frowning.

“I did,” I whispered.

He just stared. Then his features darkened, comprehension dawning on his face. His face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Is this why you’re here?” He barked out a short incredulous laugh that sounded raw and hurt. “You feel guilty?” he asked scornfully.

I didn’t answer and couldn’t look at him. It seemed to be answer enough for him.

“Salazar, Potter, you’re pathetic! Fine, if this gets rid of you: It is war. We are enemies. I absolve you of any guilt you might feel. There!” he shouted, still sitting in his armchair, but I could see how his hand gripped the armrest to keep him from shaking. He pointed at the door, “Now get out!”

I didn’t move. I stared dumbly at his lame arm lying white and alien on the dark blue velvet of the chair’s armrest It was then I noticed for the first time something was not right. Something was missing on the pale skin. “Your mark...” It left my lips before I could think about it and I regretted it. I could see how he gnashed his teeth and grabbed his arm more tightly, leaving red imprints from his nails. I wasn’t sure he was even going to answer when he spoke. His voice was bitter and so cold it left a chill on my back.

“It vanishes when you die.”

I stared at him, but he avoided looking at me, instead tracing patterns on his unfeeling skin.

“That’s the most obvious sign that there’s no life left in this arm,” he said and poked a nail into the flesh.

“Don’t,” I said. I did not want him to hurt. Never wanted him to. There, I admitted it, I’ve never allowed myself to even waste a thought about this matter, but now... He seemed so lonely, so lost. I only wanted to embrace him, to force him to stop hurting himself, to feel his warmth against my chest, his breath in my hair. But I knew he didn’t want it and I wasn’t ready to voice my wishes. I wondered if I ever would be. That was part of the unspoken contract. Just pleasure, nothing more.

He would come to me at night. Submissive and tame.

Something was missing.

Fire.

Oh how I loved the softness of his hair between my fingers, his creamy skin. And I wanted to mark him, claim him as my own.

 _Mine_.

I wanted to make him react, not just take it without a fight. I wanted him to like me. I really did. And it hurt when I realised he could never do that, because he just didn’t feel the same. But still he came to me almost every night and I took what I could get.

It started rough in that dusty classroom and it remained rough to this day. He came every night and I never wanted it to end. Even the memory of his shuddering pools in my stomach, warm and tingly. I liked the way he was then, submissive and pure and I was the one empowered, the one to possess his purity. He is right; the curse is still swirling in my blood. I feel it with every breath I take.

I nearly laid my hand on his arm, but dropped it next to it on the armrest instead.

He always goes away afterwards. Always.

In the beginning it was quite ok, because I needed my time to get used to the new situation.... and new feelings. Yes, when I realised there were feelings, I wanted him to stay, but he went away. I told myself it was normal, that maybe he was afraid to get caught. But after the incident in this very room, I knew he was never afraid of his father discovering this. So I had to accept the bitter truth.

He would always go away.

It was just about pleasure.

~*~

“Don’t.”

I heard his voice and stopped poking my nail into the dead arm, leaving a sickle-shaped mark. A bittersweet smile crept on my lips. Maybe him crippling my arm was a subconscious punishment on his part, I thought uncharitably. After all, it was the only part of me that touched him without his consent.

I still obeyed him though, and stopped boring my nail into the unfeeling flesh. I didn’t feel better.

Between us it would always be about order and obedience.

Actually, I felt rotten. That’s not me!

He moves and for a moment I think he might touch the nail imprint on my arm, but then he only lets his hand drop on the armrest.

“I’m sorry about Ron,” I said, the name feeling foreign on my tongue. Still not me, but somehow I mean it.

He seemed to hold his breath and from the corner of my eye I saw he was looking at me expectantly, as if he knew I was going to continue.

“I’m really sorry for you, but, you see,” I took a deep breath, “I saw too many dead people... lost a lot...” I trailed off.

I heard him snort, saw him drawing his hand away from the armrest balling it to a fist.

“What did you lose, Malfoy?!” he shoutetd scornfully. “You still have your parents, you still have your friends, so-“

“Shut up!” I screamed, and whirled around, successfully shutting him up by staring dangerously at him. “Listen, Harry Potter!” I practically spat his name out, like an evil curse. “My father will die on the battlefield, my mother’s long gone although she’s still alive! She could be dead -- it makes no difference! And as for my friends- … I only once had a pack to follow.” I didn’t mean to say the last sentence:  it just slipped from my lips. I stared at him, horrified about what I’d said.

He gave me a puzzled look, but remained silent. He just looked at me, comprehension slowly dawning. His eyes reminded me of the dark green of bottle glass, not the deadly green of the Unforgivable.

“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?” he asked, out of the blue, and cocked his head.

I reeled slightly from the sudden change of subject. I snorted. “Not anymore, or do you think I could write with a dead hand?” I said sarcastically.

“No, I meant before...,” he trailed off and waited.

Secretly I was astonished that he even noticed. You don’t normally show you’re left-handed while having...well... My face must have shown my bewilderment, because he smiled. A warm smile. One I had never seen before. Maybe I just had never noticed. He leaned slightly forward when he continued.

“It was your left hand that touched me...,” he whispered in a low tone. There was something in his voice I couldn’t quite place and I felt a rush of panic. He knew!

His face showed a tinge of hurt when I didn’t react, but still it was mingled with some kind of hope. “Why did you never really touch me?” he questioned softly, leaning a bit closer, invading my personal space. I felt the strong urge to flinch, to just jump up and flee to the far corner of the room, putting as much distance between him and myself as possible. I needed the hot rush to vanish, I needed air to breath, but I didn’t move. Transfixed, I stared at him slowly kneeling in front of me. His eyes never left mine. This intense, scrutinising stare on me made me squirm, but I still couldn’t move.

Slowly, oh so slowly he laid his hands on my thighs. His hands were so warm.

I held my breath. I couldn’t hold his intense gaze any longer and turned my head closing my eyes, a full body shiver running through me. I couldn’t get away, couldn’t think, I could only feel. First I felt his breath seeping through the fabric of my trousers, and then his head lying down on my knee. I exhaled, my breath shuddering.

“Touch me, Draco.”

It was softly spoken, whisper-soft, like leaves falling on a carpet. And it sent a warm chill down my back. “You want me to touch you?” I croaked, hoping he would order something else. Something I could handle.

“I don’t want you to do it, because I want you to, but because you want it.” His voice was muffled and I could feel every word as a warm breathy shadow on my thigh.

“And if I don’t want to?” Why was I even asking this? He had said it, so I had to, but I questioned him and his authority. Maybe for the first time in my life.

“Then don’t.” He sighed and brushed his cheek agonisingly slow against my thigh. “But I beg you to,” he murmured turning his head and pressing his lips to my clothed leg.

I hissed, suppressing a pant when I felt his teeth scraping over the fabric covering my skin. _Oh Merlin_.

He pushed my legs slightly apart and slipped between them. I bit my lips, opening my eyes, my gaze not leaving his face. He just kneeled between my legs and looked at me.

Merlin, he was handsome.

He pushed himself up on his arms, pushing my legs even further apart with his weight, balanced on my upper thighs, and leaned in. His cheek was brushing the left side of my jaw leaving it strangely numb and oversensitive at the same time. I could feel his arms tremble with the weight of his body and his hands clawing into my upper thighs with the effort. Or was it something else making his breath shudder?

His breath was in my ear. Overly controlled, but erratic underneath, holding something back.

I could hear my own unsteady breaths as he gently groaned in my ear, “Draco, please. Please touch me back.” His voice was soft, but I couldn’t mistake the pleading tone.

But I couldn’t. How could I? Even if I wanted to... If I wanted... How? I shook my head, his bangs tickling my cheek

He let himself fall down on his knees between my legs.

“Why not?” he asked, disappointed and hurt.

Salazar, I couldn’t stand it. He looked so forlorn. I can do this, I can handle it. Dammit! “I was just your toy, your pet. Now don‘t pretend it was something else,” I growled and I was satisfied how cold and hostile my voice sounded.

Almost normal.

Almost like it was me.

Almost me....

He just stared at me with a piercing glance that seemed to penetrate my inner core. _Avada Kedavra_. The déjà-vu hit me hard. I never saw him so angry before.

“It was fun, you were a pretty good fuck. Is that what you want to hear?!” He was shouting now, his dialect reverting to the Surrey crispness he must have picked up from public school as a child

I looked away and didn’t say a word. No, It was not what I wanted... Curious, I thought it would be easier to handle when we got back to the routine, but it just made my stomach cramp.

“God, Malfoy, you’re such a self-pitying arse! I never made you do anything!” He took a deep breath and seemed to calm a little, “And I’m not gonna make it that easy for you, just so you can go on with your life and forget me!” He continued almost inaudibly, „Because that’s not what it was... not for me.”

There was again that pleading tinge shaking his already unsteady voice.

I opened my mouth to answer and I knew when I said the words it wasn’t wise, but I didn’t stop.

“But that’s what it was for me, Potter.”

And I broke another’s heart. I saw his face, saw it shatter and then it turned to stone. Like my mother.

“Fine,” he hissed, quietly and controlled, “I wish your father had killed you back then.” He added, “I wish I had.” He stood up, grabbed his Firebolt and left.

He couldn’t know how his words frightened me. They brought back my mother’s fight with my father, the day Father found me and him here and nearly killed us both. My mother is my guardian.

I didn’t know how much power she had over my father.

Like I said once, it’s all just about power.

My left hand tingled from where he accidently brushed it as he left. I’m not surprised, not one bit. I can’t feel anything but his touch on my hand.

Salazar, how I hate him!

I hate him for making me feel...this.

I feel like he has cursed me to feel only his touch and there is nothing I can do about it.

~*~

“Harry.”

I flinched.

There she stood in all her icy grace at the end of the corridor, framed by the light filtering in through the doorway to the small library. She held her head high, her blue stone eyes staring directly into mine.

A chill crept up my spine and I couldn’t help but take a hesitant step back. Never had she addressed me by my first name. Now that she did it was strangely intimate and felt dangerously familiar.

She held my gaze a moment longer before she turned, expecting me to follow her.

When I entered the small upstairs library, she sat on a pale blue settee, clutching an old, leather-bound book in her lap. She sat there unmoving, gazing at me as if she was waiting for something. When she didn’t make any attempt to talk I slowly closed the door behind me and walked a few steps towards her. Although her eyes were like stone, hard and cold and missing the fire of life in them, they were attentive and something else glowed in them. I felt uneasy under her intense stare.

What did she want?

“You are going to win this war.”

I stumbled back from her in surprise. “What?” I mouthed without any sound leaving my lips. My eyes dropped to the book she was holding, my stomach suddenly twisting and growing cold when I read the title.

“The Dark Lord cannot touch you alone, but you and Draco won’t survive if you don’t defeat Him. So, you are going to win the war.” She said in an almost apologetic tone.

I stared at her, refusing to comprehend.

“I bound him to you.” She said it as if it was an explanation. It took me a long moment to allow myself to realise what she actually meant. My eyes widened in shocked disbelief and then in utter horror. It was the darkest of magic. I stumbled a couple more steps back until my legs hit another sofa and I limply sank down onto it.

“Harry, he was my son and I loved him.” Her brittle voice was almost inaudible over the distance between us.

Dark magic came with a price, always. And suddenly I understood why she behaved so oddly towards Draco and why she had aged considerably. Narcissa had sacrificed the most precious thing she could offer to the magic. More precious than another’s life, more precious than even her own. She had sacrificed her love for her son, to break the bond and bind him to me.

For the magic she had condemned herself to feel nothing, and for him to think she didn’t love him anymore. It meant she could not feel anything for her son now, didn’t even feel like he was her son, but she knew she had done it and the knowledge and guilt alone had made her age so quickly.

My breath came in ragged little huffs. It also meant something else. I felt like suffocating on this truth.

Despite the magic having altered everything, I knew she had acted out of love. That she believed strongly enough in me to fate her son’s life to mine showed that she might be closer to Andromeda and Sirius in thought, than even she herself might have known.

She had apparently anticipated that I would eventually defeat Voldemort. She had bound her son’s life to the only wizard she believed to be untouchable by him. And thus Voldemort would be unable to kill Draco.

What she hadn’t anticipated was that something beyond that bond had grown between us. And that _I_ would try to kill Draco. I’ve heard somewhere that the opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. I acted out of hate in that moment on the battle field, out of a stupid feeling of being rejected, a feeling born of my unrequited love towards him.

“Oh God,” I breathed helplessly. She nodded.

It dawned on me what had happened. Her magic and mine, both stemming from the most powerful feeling on this planet - her love for her child, my hatred born from love – had combined in the instant I cast the Unforgivable.

“I did it so no one, neither from your side, nor the Dark Lord Himself, would be able to kill him,” she said. “No one, except the one he’s bound to. Except you.”

“And I did,” I said forlornly, “God, I did try to kill him.”

“And it rebounded.” She said simply, matter of fact.

Like my mother’s magic all those years ago, hers had protected Draco. But because she had altered it beforehand, tainting it with Dark Magic, despite being born from good intentions, my curse was still killing him, only differently.

It also meant my own curse had rebounded back to me. And now that I was aware, I could feel it had ripped away something from me as well. Splintered something deep inside.

“Harry, I believe you are bound more strongly than you can imagine.” The sing-song quality of her voice suddenly set my teeth on edge. She had done the unspeakable. She continued regardless and without mercy, “Now, you cannot kill him directly anymore and neither is he able to kill you, but your curse ripped into him and therefore into you and it will eat at him the more your words tear into him. And it will eat at you.”

“It’s worse than dying with a quick Avada Kedavra.” I whispered, feeling utterly hopeless. For the both of us.

“Yes”, she said simply. “Because you cannot die any longer. You will always bring each other back.”

I looked up at her sharply. I didn’t want to hear it!

“Harry, you are each other’s H-”

“Don’t say it!” I shouted over her last word, horror-stricken “Fuck!” I screamed helplessly at the top of my lungs towards the ceiling. It sounded more like the wail of an animal than human. And I felt less human than I have ever felt before. My throat was raw when the sound died on the last of my breath.

She just sat there, impassive, her hands folded in her lap over her leather bound edition of _Secrets of the Darkest Art_. I sobbed in a breath and shuddered violently staring at the book. This couldn’t be.

Hermione’s words replayed itself in crystal clear memory in my head: _And the more I've read about them, the more horrible they seem, and the less I can believe that he actually made six._

“I know you don’t really hate him,” she said. I could only nod numbly in reply. “That’s what I never could have foreseen,” she swallowed thickly, “You and him. I thought it would be safe for both of you, I could never have seen that you two would…” She trailed off, guilt and shame colouring her voice. I never thought she was capable to feel it. “That’s why you have so much power over him. And you have transferred the same power to Draco,” she continued, her voice shaking, “If you’d only gone on disliking him as before everything would be fine.”

“It’s not exactly my fault,” I growled angrily.

“I know.” She hastened to add, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

There was a tentative knock on the door before it was opened hesitantly. Draco stepped in; his face was a mask of frightened horror. I found it an odd expression under the circumstances. The emotion changed suddenly to a quick flutter of relief when he saw me. His eyes flitted between Narcissa and me uncertainly. “Are you ok? I heard you scream,” he said softly.

I stared at him, until I realised I should probably nod or something. It hadn’t occurred to me until now that he had thought she was torturing me or had maybe actually killed me. Considering what she had done to the both of us was exactly the opposite, I found the thought suddenly hilarious. Hysterical laughter bubbled up from my throat.

Draco stared at me in confusion, then fear when I only laughed harder at the unbelievably stupid hilariousness of this fucked up situation. I doubled over and sank to the carpeted floor in a helpless sprawl when I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs to continue my manic giggling. The laughter morphed into painful, desperate huffs and I felt my stomach heave with dry sobs. 

I love him and he doesn’t love me back. And now we could never really get away from each other. We were condemned to tear into each other forever, to rip out pieces of the other, because there was no balance between us and we could never really stop, until someone else killed us together and in the right way.

“Mother?” he asked uncertainly, obviously torn between concern for me and wanting an explanation. 

Still heaving I shot Narcissa a nasty look, daring her to explain all this. I saw her whole demeanour change from the relatively civil, almost friendly way she had been with me earlier to complete and utter indifference towards Draco. I could practically see her age, whither and die before my eyes, as she got up, put the book wordlessly aside and just left her only son behind with an apparently deranged wizard - me - wheezing and heaving on the floor.

Love was cruel.

But I’d known that fact for a long time.

~*~

Salazar! I thought she’d killed him. When I had heard him scream I really thought she had. I didn’t even want to go and look, didn’t want to see his corpse on the floor. My insides had twisted, my left arm still tingled from his touch and I had thought that this would be the only reminder I had left of him. A stupid tingle on my skin.

“God, this is fucked up.” Harry said from his position on the floor. He had one arm drawn over his eyes, still trying to calm his heaves and catch his breath.

I didn’t really know what to do. The desperate fear that had threatened to suffocate me at the thought of him being dead was still lodged deeply in my bones. So I let my body take over my mind. It apparently decided that folding my legs underneath me and sinking to the carpet next to him and staring into space, seeing nothing, was the right thing to do.

I could feel him looking at me from under his arm. The longer he stared, the more I felt his gaze become searching. There was a figurative Hippogriff in the room, only I was apparently unable to see it. Finally Harry removed his arm and stared at me openly.

“She loves you very much,” he said softly, his eyes willing me to understand.

I snorted with disdain. “I doubt that,” I simply stated. And I felt I deserved it anyway. I had betrayed her after all by choosing my father over her. Part of me was still angry with both of them for making me choose in the first place, but it could not be changed anymore.

Harry sat up and touched my right elbow tentatively to draw my attention. “No, really, Draco. I know she does.”

I stared at him, stared into his eyes until he looked away nervously. “There’s something you are not telling me,” I said with fake calm, all the while feeling cold dread seeping like molasses into my veins. “What did you talk about?”

“God, Draco, it’s complicated,” he said, evading having to meet my gaze again by ruffling his hair uncomfortably.

It was simply too much.

“She won’t talk to me, but she talks to you?” I suddenly shouted, my voice slipping higher in my anger and breaking finally, “ _You?!_

His head whipped up at my shrill tone. He stared at me with either sympathy or pity – I couldn’t quite tell which -- but I wanted neither. Not from him.

“Draco,” he whispered imploringly, and reached out a hand towards my arm again. I grew suddenly very still.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” It was only a whisper, but it cut like shards of glass. He jerked his hand away quickly. “Don’t you dare!” My voice rose to a wail and I felt tears prick my eyes _. I won’t cry. I will not cry in front of him, of all people._ I pushed at him hard, although he had made no further move to touch me or even come close to me. I just wanted him gone.

“She has bound us.” Harry murmured miserably.

“What?” I asked into the silence, feeling stunned. He just looked over to the settee my mother had occupied only moments before. I saw the book. I recognised it and finally I understood.

We sat for a while without saying anything. I could hear his unsteady breaths, but that was all.

“Then all of this, you and me, is just the curse? It’s not real?”

I felt like clawing the skin from my body, it felt suddenly so tight and raw. “Then I’m only attracted to that splinter of my soul inside you.” A lonely, frantic laugh ripped painfully from my throat. The silence afterwards hung between us like a thick, oppressing fog. “Merlin, it was never real.”

“No, it was!” Harry rushed closer, gripping both my shoulders. I flinched away from him violently. I needed space to breathe and whenever he touched me the tingle spread from my hand to every scar he’d put on my back.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he said in a small voice.

I stared at him, torn between disbelieving incredulity and blind rage. “Harry, you tried to kill me.”

He hung his head and didn’t move. He finally kept his fingers to himself. His voice was little more than a hoarse, pleading whisper and his body had started to shake slightly. “I think, I l-”

“Don’t say it!” I hissed. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Draco, please,” he begged. “I do, I know I really do.”

I let myself fall back onto the carpet trying desperately to ignore everything around me. It was not real. I could still hear the rustling of his clothes as he shook next to me. I shut my eyes tightly. _Fuck_.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he whispered again, choking.

“Why did you then?” I asked. I sounded almost matter-of-fact. Almost like I didn’t care. Almost like his anguish and guilt could not touch me.

“I don’t know.” He pushed the words out while a choked sob tore from his throat. My head whipped towards him involuntarily at the broken sound.

“Shit.” I swore and pulled him towards me by his shoulder. “Harry, none of this is real. It feels real, but it isn’t.” I tried to reason with him, but he just shook under my hand. “She must have done this shortly after you were here and Father found us. Everything after that is just not real. Never has been.”

He looked up at me, his eyes were red, but no tears had fallen. Then he said something that pulled the ground right from under me and stunned me into absolute silence. “But I’ve loved you long before that,” he said in a small voice.

My throat closed up and I had trouble focusing on him. “You loved me and you put me through that shit?” I could hear my own voice rise again slightly. The minute scars still tingled on my back; my left hand twitched.

“You didn’t feel the same. You slept with me, but you hated me and I was so angry. God, Draco, I was so, so angry.” He looked away, shame burning on his cheeks. “You never touched me back,” he whispered brokenly and turned further away from me. I felt him slip from my grasp.

The next words he just murmured, almost as if to himself, “You used me and I used you… God help me, I did, but I hoped... Hoped that maybe... But you always left… left me... Sometimes when we were together I wanted to hurt you, punish you maybe for leaving me every night...for not wanting me...” He trailed off as another dry heave rose, choking him.

Merlin, how much worse could this get? How could I not have seen this? Like he had said earlier today, he had never forced anything on me really. I thought back to our Hogwarts days and finally allowed myself to really see what had happened. I could suddenly see how hungry for touch he had been, how I had ignored it to stifle my own hunger for touch. How I had misunderstood the hunger and his need and how he had never really known about power in the first place the way I did.

It was never about power.

 _I_ had made it about that.

I had been a stupid boy, who was misguided and had never wanted to see what was really going on. Because being loved – truly and deeply loved - was frightening.

I had latched onto Harry’s darker side. I knew he had one - Merlin, so did I. I had deliberately brought out the worst in him, punishing myself for wanting to touch him and punishing him for making me feel that want to begin with. I had brought out the beast to play to have a reason to still hate him, because loving him had left me terrified to the bone.

I had never been afraid of my father discovering us. I had been afraid of _me_ discovering this.

“Harry?” I said softly and he flinched slightly away from me. “Do you still want me?” My throat felt uncomfortably tight. What if he didn’t?

He looked up at my question, painfully frightened and raw. I could see him debating with himself to lie to me. To figure out what the least hurtful action would be for him. Merlin, he was so bad at hiding his feelings. And with a pang of guilty anguish I realised that I had always seen them clearly on his face, but had never wanted them to be real. Suddenly the hasty, _Shouldn’t you be gone by now?_ didn’t mean `piss off´, but was coloured with concern for me, for my family and friends discovering us. I felt my insides clench waiting for his answer.

“Yes,” he finally whispered, sounding subdued and ashamed. I felt like clawing at my skin again, for I had taught him to feel shame about what he felt towards me.

I pulled him close and just before my lips brushed his I mouthed the words he needed so desperately to hear against his skin. He relaxed with a shudder and a soft moan.

Merlin, how I loved and wanted him.

~*~

I felt at peace.

When he touched me, I felt at peace.

I was so relieved to be able to feel this. I thought I’d lost it forever. But I could feel peaceful. 

He kissed me.

We’d kissed before, but never like this. He was so careful, almost afraid to touch me, but he did, God, he finally did and I sobbed with relief.

His fingers fluttered over my face, my eyes and he moaned softly against my lips. Fuck, that sound turned me on. It always had. He made the smallest, most breathy and delicious sounds. When I opened my mouth and our tongues brushed, he moaned again. I nipped carefully at his bottom lip just to hear him make those sounds a third time. He did and I shuddered helplessly.

I felt so hot. Sweat started to gather at the nape of my neck and slithered down my spine.

I had to get out of these clothes, had to get him out of his. Merlin, my trousers were really uncomfortable now.

His breath ghosted along my lips and the roof of my mouth. He made these small noises again, as his hands dove into my hair, scraping deliciously over my scalp. A shudder ran through me. I was feeling desperate.

“Draco, God, I’m so hard.” I let my head loll back at the wanton tone of my voice, feeling the heat rush to my cheeks. Oh man, I can’t believe I said that out loud.

Draco just brushed a hand over my cheek with a wicked smile and kissed me again. His touch grew more urgent, his tongue sliding sensuously wet against mine.

I was a little afraid to touch him back. Afraid, that it might wake my dark urges again to claim him and to maim him. My fingers fluttered uncertainly over his back and side and he hissed suddenly. “Shit,” I muttered feebly and pulled my hand quickly back. I’d hurt him again. _Shit, shit, shit_! I didn’t know what to do with my treacherous hands and ended up pushing them under my arse, effectively pinning them there. I couldn’t look at him. I felt my throat close up again. The blush was back, but now it was painful and tinged with shame.

“It’s ok.” He panted lowly, “It doesn’t actually hurt, it’s just…” He seemed at a loss of words.

I could not look at him. “I’m sorry, Draco,” I heard myself say feebly. “I can’t do this. I never meant to hurt you.”

Draco didn’t say anything for a long time. Then I felt him leaning closer to me again. “I know.” His voice was a breathy whisper against my cheek. I felt his lips on my throat just under my jawbone and the resulting wave of pleasure made me buck up against him helplessly. A surprised groan was pushed from him, as my involuntary motion brought our groins together for a moment.

God, we were both hard. When he looked at me and I had gathered the courage to look back at him, I saw that his face was flushed and his eyes intensely focused on mine. Sweat pooled in the hollows above my collarbones.

~*~

“You want me to touch you?” I asked Harry, and the question alone sent a searing wave of arousal through me. Merlin, I was so hard, it was almost painful. I wanted him so much and I wanted him to want me in the same way. A fluttery, giddy feeling spread along my arousal as I realised, again, that he did.

He blushed and averted his eyes at my question.

Funny, I thought we left that shore of shyness years ago...

“Yes,” he whispered so low I almost had to read his lips. Harry seemed nervous and excited all at once. And incredibly turned on. His breath came in almost mewling, raggedly soft pants as he waited for me, a full body quiver encompassing him.

I smiled and this warm feeling spread in my chest again.

“Merlin, you’re so hot.” I whispered more to myself, but I knew he had heard me. He sucked in a shuddering breath and closed his eyes tightly for a moment. I realised only then with an insane wave of need and pride that he was concentrating so hard to avoid coming right then and there. Just from the sound of my voice. How amazing was that?

I had to grab myself hard to avoid the same thing, as another wave of searing heat rushed through me at the thought, and crested. I could do nothing but pant for a moment, eyes tightly closed. I could still hear him gulp in shuddering breaths with abandon beside me. I could feel his amazed gaze on me and looked up. He looked flushed and glassy-eyed with arousal. I had to grip myself even harder. I had to calm down, but Merlin, when he looked at me like that it nearly was my undoing. His eyes… They were undressing me with their intense gaze alone and I was so turned on by the fact that yes, he wanted to. Desperately.

I pushed his legs apart slowly and his eyes widened, his pupils contracting to sharp, intensely focused points with his arousal. Fuck, he really could not hide his feelings.

I kneeled between his spread legs and let my eyes wander over him. His shock of raven dark hair still slightly damp from the rain when he had arrived, his scar so obvious and with its hidden darkness, the green eyes, then his lips, flushed, slightly parted, his lower lip trembling just a bit with wanton tension.

And his skin.

His skin... tanned in his face and every part that he hadn‘t concealed from the sun. Slowly I lifted my hand and reached for him, for his throat. My eyes were fixed on the spot were my fingers would make contact with his skin. I felt an unknown excitement pooling in my stomach spreading through my body. No, I knew this feeling. It had been there in that dusty classroom... when I still thought that he could... But now I knew that he did. He’d always done.

I heard his breath quicken and he tensed, anticipating my touch, arching his body unintentionally towards my hand. Merlin, he looked so hot, so desperate and so helplessly turned on. I hesitated to draw out the moment a little and a low sound, a whimper to my ears, escaped his throat. And then I felt it.

His skin.

Soft and warm.

I had to close my eyes. This was nearly too much. It wasn’t just warm, it was hot, almost burning my fingertips.

So alive...

On their own accord my fingers wandered down his torso opening his shirt. He whimpered again, low in his chest, longing. I looked at him. His eyes were tightly shut, his whole body arched in a tense bow. His ribs showed with every breath he fought to calm. I could tell from the tension in his jaw that he was gritting his teeth in silent concentration. His hands were digging into the soft carpet to keep them where they were. His arms had started to tremble with the effort. I sucked in a shuddering breath.

We were both running out of self-control here and I loved it.

I let just a single nail scratch the coarse hair on his chest and he tried to suppress another whimper and failed. The sound turned into a long sensual moan as I bent down and let my breath follow my touch over his quivering chest.

I loved his moans, I always had.

My lips caressed his skin in just the slightest of touches. His back arched again and he panted raggedly. “Draco, God, I…” He mewled. “Draco,” he breathed softly in utter surrender to the swirl of emotion.

My name.

Merlin, I loved my name on his lips. It was so hoarse. It shot desire like molten lava through my veins. It sounded so full of abandon and longing when he said it. It made my insides twist with heat and a hunger that was overpowering. I wanted him so much. “Fuck… Say my name again.” My voice was a rough, husky sound against his skin.

He writhed once, helplessly, at the sound of my voice, whimpering. “Draco,” he panted, “Don’t stop... touching.... me.”

I didn’t have any intention to stop. I wanted to tell him so, but all that left my lips was a husky groan. The heat made my lame arm prickle again but I couldn’t care less. It was just an unpleasant feeling in the back of my mind.

I leaned forward pressing his muscular form against the seat of the couch with my own body. He panted again, interrupted only by deep moans, and turned his head away, his eyes pressed shut and his teeth biting hard on his lower lip. From the corner of my eye I noticed the heavy trembling of his arms as he tried to keep his hands in place on the carpet. Rush after rush seared through me, sizzling, burning, making my own body tremble against his. His head was still turned to one side and I couldn’t help but notice the submissive tinge. Almost tame. Almost.

Merlin, I couldn’t believe he just gave me this. Just like that, like a present. He just handed me that power over him. Willingly.

It made my head swim.

Huskily whimpering, he spoke, and it made me shudder in return. “Let me... Let me touch you back,” he begged.

My fingers fluttered over his navel eliciting another longing moan. Oh Merlin, he had no idea what this did to me.

“Yes,” I sobbed, moaning, “bite me.” I wanted him to be a bit rougher with me. _Oh fuck_ , I thought, with a strangely clear quality, I never knew this about myself. But I loved it when he scratched me, when he bit me and licked over the marks. Whereas so long ago it had made me feel sick, now it just turned me on and grounded me at the same time, because the meaning of these touches had changed. They weren’t meant to hurt anymore. They were meant to heighten my pleasure and, _fuck_ , they did. I moaned his name and felt his teeth sink into my skin. Not enough to break it, but definitely enough to really make me feel it. My hips snapped against his involuntarily, eliciting a muffled moan against my skin where he had pressed his lips and teeth against the juncture between neck and shoulder. He pushed back forcefully, grinding his groin against mine. I nearly came from the dual sensations of his bite and that push alone.

Breathing hard, I sat back a moment, getting rid of my clothing as quickly as I could manage. He did the same, albeit with an amused expression at both our urgency and lack of elegance.

When Harry was naked, he leaned back at the seat cushion of the sofa, spreading his legs. I climbed over them, sitting astride him in his lap, pushing our hips together in a smooth motion. His eyes screwed shut for a moment and his hands shot up to grab the seat cushion on either side of his head. He pushed back at me with a soft moan.

How on Merlin’s green earth could I have lived without him?

I grabbed one of his hands and pulled it between us to wrap around my cock. When I pressed both our hands against my cock with the pressure I enjoyed most, he sagged forward slowly and I felt his tongue sneak out to lick my collarbone whimpering softly. 

After a couple of slow strokes I let go of his hand and wrapped mine around his cock. At the touch, he strained towards me with a desperate sound. Our hands bumped and it wasn’t perfect, but for me there was nothing better in this world.

~*~

“Shit, Harry, I need your fingers, _please_.” Draco’s breath hitched as he said it. “I’d do it myself, but my arm…”

I groaned at his words. Thinking about him needing to push his fingers inside himself, while he touched me, God, that was unbelievably hot. I lifted one hand off his cock and snaked it around his back. I stroked his buttocks once, making him thrust his hips into mine again with a soft whimper. I was shaking.

I muttered a quick spell and slippery, clear moisture erupted on the palm of my hand, coating my fingers generously and running down my arm to drip onto the carpet. Geez, I might have overdone that a little in my excitement. I didn’t care that I was making a mess in the library. Sex was messy.

Love even more so.

I felt between his cheeks for the right spot and knew I’d found it when he moaned. He curled in on himself and let his head drop slowly towards my shoulder. I pushed him back gently with my other arm. I had to look at him, see his face when I... He blushed deeply, understanding, opening heavy-lidded, silver eyes.

I pushed a finger slowly inside of him and he went rigid with aroused tension, pushing back against me. He had completely forgotten to touch me, but I didn’t care. I had to look at him, had to see the utter abandon on his face, as I moved my fingers in a slow rhythm.

His eyes snapped shut and a deeply satisfied groan bubbled up from him as I crooked my fingers in just the right way. His flush intensified and he grabbed my hand to still it for a moment, panting raggedly a couple of times with closed eyes. Droplets of sweat had gathered on his forehead and slid sensuously down his face, dripping onto his chest and my stomach.

When his breathing had slowed a little, he opened his eyes again to look at me. His gaze never wavering, he wound his hand around my cock again and stroked in slow passes, matching my strokes inside him. He leaned forward until his forehead touched mine and we breathed in each other’s breath in ragged pants.

We set a slow-burning rhythm, each touching the other in comfortable strokes. I felt the tension slowly build and I could see it was happening to him, too. His face had started to flush even more and the minute movements of his hips back onto my fingers had increased. He quickened his hand on me, twisting and I moaned loudly.

I pushed my fingers inside him more forcefully, crooking them. He whimpered and the rhythm of his hand on my cock faltered suddenly. His hand clenched almost painfully around me, but I loved it.

“Merl- ah – I can’t concentrate when you do that,” Draco murmured, panting. I pushed my fingers further into him just to hear his breath catch again. He shuddered above me, suddenly letting go of me and grabbing my shoulder hard for support. “Harry,” he warned desperately.

“Yes,” I hissed through clenched teeth. I wanted to see that again. See him lose it completely. He always was so beautiful when he came.

“No,” he whimpered haltingly, as I moved my fingers again. “Harry, please, I want, I need…” The last word was lost on a long sensuous moan as he threw his head back. That nearly did it for me.

With considerable effort, he pushed himself up and my fingers slid free. He shuddered once at the loss and then opened his eyes, gazing at me. He grabbed behind him to push my legs apart and slid between them, letting himself fall backwards onto the carpet. One graceful hand beckoned me to follow. I leaned forward willingly, stretching over him as he reclined on the carpet. His body glistened with sweat.

God, I loved that man so much.

He draped one leg over my shoulder, the other hooked around my waist. I held onto his thigh tightly as I carefully pushed forward, biting my lower lip.

His back curled into an elegant bow and he moaned loudly, his hands first scrabbling at the soft carpet for support, until they finally rose to my chest, grabbing my flesh almost painfully. I groaned. I was so close.

He choked on a sob and moaned as I thrust forward leaning into him. He was close, too, I could see it.

“God, I love you, Draco.”

I breathed against his lips and he came. He shuddered and moaned softly. His face contorted in bliss and abandon and that was enough. I felt myself slipping and coming, pushing forward sharply, eliciting another deep moan from him. I held onto him tightly as I shuddered above him.

For a long time the only sound in the room was both our panting as we tried to catch our breath.

I tried to lift off him so I wouldn’t crush him, but he held tight, snaking his legs tightly around my waist.

“I like your weight,” he confessed, almost timidly. He looked at me, his pupils huge, utterly satisfied. His hand came up and brushed away sweaty strands of my hair that were plastered to my cheek. I smiled.

“I-” Draco stopped abruptly, his face scrunching up in angry frustration, “I just can’t say it, Harry,” he admitted sadly, “but I do, I really, really do.” He looked miserable. As if he’d failed me somehow.

I looked inside myself for a moment trying to see how I felt about that. “It’s ok,” I said, my hand lifting to his left arm. He hissed slightly when I touched it. It felt warm and oddly alive under my touch. Judging from the blush on Draco’s cheeks he had hissed not because it was unpleasant. I curled around him, pushing my nose into his hair. He smelled of sweat and of me.

I woke in the early hours of the morning. I felt slightly chilled, lying on the floor of the library, but I didn’t want to move. So I just lay there and looked at his sleeping face for hours.

 _He looks peaceful_ , I finally decide. His left arm is tucked under his head, pushing up his cheek a little. I can see a dark shadow on the inside of it just above his wrist. It looks like a fading bruise just under the surface of the skin, but it has a very peculiar shape. I recognise it and for a moment I don’t really know how I feel about it coming back.

I’ve always associated the Dark Mark with something horrible, but maybe not in this context. Maybe it means I’m not killing him anymore and he is not killing me. Maybe we’ve finally stopped tearing into each other. Maybe now, finally, there is an equal balance.

Balance.

I like that thought.

 

~ _Finite Incantatem_ ~  

**Author's Note:**

> The Curse that parts us
> 
> My will to live  
> My wish to die  
> When love will come and pass me by
> 
> I lost one child  
> I’ll lose the other  
> When darkness falls upon another 
> 
> My life in vain  
> My chances wasted  
> When death will end it’s love I tasted
> 
> The Curse that binds us
> 
>  
> 
> ... IDEK.


End file.
